


Human Kind

by Leni Jess (Leni_Jess)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: smutty_claus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-02
Updated: 2011-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni_Jess/pseuds/Leni%20Jess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She was not likely to be grateful, but he had learned not to expect gratitude, no matter what sacrifices he made.</i></p><p>Warnings more specific than AO3 provides: Dubious (forced) consent; some violence; nominal slavery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Kind

  
_... Mercy has a human heart,  
Pity a human face..._

William Blake, _The Divine Image_ in _Songs of Innocence_

 _Cruelty has a human heart...  
And Secrecy the human dress._

William Blake, _The Divine Image_ etched for but not used in _Songs of Experience_

 

Severus could hear the excitement as he hurried to answer his lord's summons. No Apparition here, though Voldemort had never acknowledged he had copied that security precaution from his dead opponent. Now he could tell that both Voldemort and his followers were in the entry hall; someone had Apparated in with news, or a prisoner, or…

He began to run, heedless of the dignity he guarded so carefully here. Merlin send nothing had happened to Potter. Harry Potter's success was to Severus the only thing that would ever justify all he had done. Justify it not to the wizarding world, but to himself. He would probably still end in Azkaban, but at least he should be able to sleep there, if what he did contributed to Voldemort's defeat.

At the doorway he halted long enough to swirl his robes' draperies into elegance, then stalked in, head high, face shuttered, eyes alert.

There was only a small crowd, after all, surrounding the Dark Lord and Peter Pettigrew. And the body at their feet, thrashing and whimpering under some hex Pettigrew was maintaining. Not the Cruciatus Curse, the thrashing wasn't violent enough. A small female body, with bushy brown hair flung about by its owner's convulsive response to pain.

Severus managed to control his sigh of relief. Not Potter, then. A moment later he acknowledged this was almost as bad. Hermione Granger might not have much of a profile with the Death Eaters, but Severus knew how important she was to Potter. Even more, he knew how important her research and planning skills were to the task Albus Dumbledore had given Potter, which Dumbledore could no longer guide him through.

Damn the girl; she knew that. Couldn't she have been more careful?

He watched in unsympathetic silence until Voldemort lifted a hand impatiently. Obediently Pettigrew ended the hex and Granger rolled to one side, curling up around the pain that had her quivering still, crossing her arms over her little breasts, hugging herself desperately tight, drawing her knees up to her chest, trying to disappear.

Then Voldemort turned to him.

Severus was all respectful attention.

"One of Potter's little friends. Is she of any _use_ , Severus? Or would her best use be to throw him her mangled body as a warning, on Hallows' Eve, perhaps, reminding him of other anniversaries? Give him time to wonder what's happening to her…"

Severus waited a beat to be sure Voldemort had finished his speculations, then offered, "She is useful to Potter, my lord. You may know she is a competent witch –"

"A Mudblood!" Macnair interrupted scornfully.

Severus said flatly, phrasing carefully in view of their lord's half-blood status, "Magic seems not to care whether one is pureblood or Muggle-born, Walden, though that may affect one's children's chances of having similar powers. A good enough reason for being cautious with Muggle-borns. She is competent and clever and vicious beyond her years."

Voldemort tilted his head slightly. That seemed to appeal to him. "Vicious?"

"You recollect Dolores Umbridge was in St Mungo's for several months? This girl turned the centaurs on her, knowing full well Umbridge would insult them, rouse their anger, and suffer their vengeance. Get her out of Potter's way."

Severus wasn't sure Granger had intended all of that, or had been atypically thoughtless in her haste, but his purpose was to give the girl a chance to survive until he might send her back to Potter. As if he had not enough coins and wands to juggle here.

"She is – rational. Pragmatic. She's Potter's strategic advisor."

He suspected that was the Weasley boy's role, though he thought Potter must have developed some skills of his own in that area – hard to believe Weasley was of any use. However, telling Voldemort Granger's real part in Potter's present campaign would do nothing but get her killed to deprive Potter of her research skills.

No need to stress now that this last year, since Severus had fled Hogwarts and the consequences of Dumbledore's murder – he no longer flinched at the word – Potter had had a number of successes. Their exact nature Voldemort kept from his followers, but that he had been seriously affected by whatever Potter was doing had been plain to all.

"It's good Wormtail has taken her from him, but we could indeed use her, my lord, if you willed. She could advise us as she would have advised Potter, what he might do next, how he might pursue his goals."

Better not bring up the issue of what those goals might be.

"She will predict his probable actions for us willingly?" The high voice was laden with sarcasm.

"If we neither kill her nor torture her into incapability, but show her those options, and then her alternatives, if we construct for her a reason to cooperate, that pragmatism of hers will work in our favour. If we lead her to think her own skills, and a secret helper here, might let her escape to serve Potter once more – "

There was a stir of unease at that; no one wanted Voldemort to purge his Death Eaters yet again for possible traitors. Indeed, Severus might have shivered with horror himself, when what he hoped to do paralleled what he suggested so closely.

He pressed on, "Of course she will try to deceive us. But she cannot lie too sweepingly. We can compare what she suggests with what Potter does, punish her errors, reward her accuracy. Start with small things which under the pressure of death or worse she might be willing to give up, then lead her to betray him truly. Trap her, until she knows she must serve us or die, having already abandoned him. By then she might no longer be willing to die."

They had done that with the weak of will before, from Cornelius Fudge down. He doubted if it would be successful with Hermione Granger.

Voldemort did not seem disposed to take alarm at the reference to a traitor. "That might be helpful, indeed, Severus, though managing her would take care. We would see soon enough if the plan was worth pursuing, given that care."

Then he asked, "Who would help her? Who would wish to do Potter good?"

Severus smiled mirthlessly, baring his yellow teeth, and repaid Peter Pettigrew for manifold annoyances. "Wormtail owes Potter a wizard's life debt," he pointed out.

Pettigrew set up a squeal of protest; Severus overrode him. "He might hint to her of a wish to repay that. She knows how fearful for himself he is, might believe he wishes to play both sides for his own protection."

Pettigrew muttered sullenly, even as Rodolphus Lestrange made the obvious objection, though Voldemort was smiling, that thin twist of lips so much more feral even than Severus's own smile. "He captured her."

Confident in Voldemort's desire to have Pettigrew always under someone's eye, knowing his weakness as well as his usefulness, Severus enquired, "Alone? Unobserved? In circumstances where he might have been able to let her run back to Hogwarts and safety?"

Avery spoke up, which surprised Severus a little; Voldemort ordinarily kept Pettigrew under the supervision of someone braver than he, though not necessarily as clever. "I was with him, Severus. He was quick to seize on her. He took advantage of her carelessness, going alone into Knockturn Alley after dark."

He held out what must be Granger's wand as evidence of adequate supervision.

Severus took it, and nodded as if he had expected that confirmation. Being very much one of Voldemort's closest advisors, even after a year of equivocation, let him make such gestures where most would wait for Voldemort to take the wand.

Lestrange put in, "Little Peter thinks first for himself, rather than for his debts or loyalties."

Clearly it was Kick Pettigrew Day, but Rodolphus certainly had reasons for wishing to kick Pettigrew, after Pettigrew had suggested at the New Year that Rodolphus's wife had had a part in Lucius Malfoy's disappearance from Azkaban. Fortunately for both Narcissa and Draco their innocence had been patent. Bellatrix had been able to prove hers, though she still held it against everyone but Voldemort that he had distrusted her enough to require it.

Severus concealed his relish at the recollection. Peter Pettigrew was earning enemies much faster than friends. After spending two summers with Pettigrew dogging his heels and listening from behind doors in that abandoned Muggle house he had for years claimed as his father's, Severus was quite willing to see Pettigrew kicked to death, if Voldemort would only allow it.

He said no more. Let the Dark Lord consider his suggestions and make them his own, if he would. If he did not, there was no more he could do for Granger, though desperate possibilities were squirreling about in the back of his mind. If nothing else, he would have given Peter Pettigrew an uncomfortable half-hour, and reminded others of the pleasures to be had in doing so.

He thrust away the image of Albus's reproachful blue gaze and his demand that he teach and protect Potter. He had done the latter, and would continue to do so; fortunately, circumstances saved him from needing to try to teach James Potter's son any longer. It had not become less of a struggle as Potter grew to physical if not mental maturity.

Voldemort looked down at Granger then said impatiently, "Put a stop to this, Severus, so that she pays attention."

Obediently Severus levelled his wand and said, " _Ennervate_."

Granger uncurled slightly, then moved to look up at them cautiously through the cloud of tangled hair.

Voldemort caught her eyes and held them when she tried to flinch away. They widened, and the girl stiffened and shuddered, but after a couple of minutes Voldemort looked away, snapping, "Well taught. Her late Headmaster, no doubt."

Severus was quite sure that wasn't the case. He was inclined to congratulate Draco on it. That young man had evidently had something to trade to Minerva McGonagall when his lord sent him to her last autumn to weep and plead duress with a view to spying on Potter. Severus was glad to know it. He knew Narcissa was safe with powerful friends somewhere in Europe, and though he had no idea where Lucius was, he had certainly not vanished without help from someone who would want a return on his efforts.

Just as well Granger had successfully learned Occlumency. Legilimency dug far deeper than Veritaserum, unless one was very experienced in its use. If her mind had been open to the Dark Lord it might have done great harm to whatever Potter was doing. Severus didn't know what that was, but was content that his formerly feckless pupil had somehow learned to concentrate and to achieve something by more than sheer luck. For some time now Voldemort had been personally cautious in a way Severus had never seen; he was afraid of something.

Now he could do something for Granger.

"You said, my lord, that managing her would take care. How do you wish us to handle this?"

The Dark Lord looked around, seeing Walden Macnair's transparent anticipation, Bellatrix's continuing sullen rebellion. "You, Severus," he decided.

It was probably safe to protest mildly without risk of losing the assignment. "It will mean time away from the Imperius Potion, my lord."

"Not much time," Voldemort contradicted blandly. "Take her into your bed, Severus. Show her her place, without reducing her to incompetence. You should know her better than any here, and what her limits might be." He smiled again. "Stretch them. Remind her, as you suggested, of her dependence on your favour, and ours. Teach her strict obedience."

Severus beat down the instinctive teacher's recoil from improper relations with a student. Granger was not a student now, and had not been his student for over a year.

Bellatrix said, carefully hiding her resentment of their master's continuing reliance on someone other than herself, "I can do that, my lord, and bring her to you perfectly obedient, much faster than Severus will."

Voldemort frowned, though slightly. "I fear, Bella, that you would make of her not only a slave, but one mindlessly drilled to give submission without skill. Just as the Imperius Curse would. Before using methods that would destroy her skills, or Veritaserum, which would get me merely truth as she knows it now, I'll try a subtler way. Let Severus make use of those tedious years at Hogwarts. He can create fear and eagerness to comply without destroying skill – look at your nephew."

Which suggested that even now the Dark Lord did not realise Draco had abandoned him. That was just as well for Severus; his position as Draco's mentor had been unavoidable.

Reluctantly Bellatrix said, "Draco is eager to serve you indeed, my lord, as he should be, after Lucius's betrayal."

Coming from one of the architects of Lucius's failure that was rich, but Severus saw no point in defending Lucius Malfoy to their lord, though it had been possible to help both Draco and Narcissa.

Voldemort dismissed that with an impatient gesture. "Take her away, Severus, and teach her absolute compliance."

Severus bowed, then reached down to grab Granger's right wrist with his left hand, hauling her to her feet. She staggered, but once she gained her balance tried to pull free. Severus slapped her lightly. She stared at him as if astonished. Extraordinary.

Since it seemed to be necessary he told her, with little patience, "You are no longer your own person, woman; you are mine. Entirely at my lord's service."

Belatedly she seemed to understand his message, and bent her head, allowing those unruly curls to hide her expression. He made a note not to let her tie them back.

Even so he had to tug at her wrist again. Enough of this; such open resistance was dangerous to them both. He set his hands at her waist and tossed her up over his left shoulder. She gasped, and thrashed like a landed fish, clutching at his robes, but it seemed to be involuntary. Trying to get her breath, no doubt.

Severus stalked out of the hall before she could do anything else to hamper his efforts to save her.

In his room a few minutes' walk away he tossed her to the bed.

She sat up, her expression more defiant than her posture, arms wrapped around herself, legs drawn close to her body.

"Be quiet and think, woman!" he snapped. "Your alternatives are death – and not a simple one – or doing what the Dark Lord wants. Well?"

She snarled back at him. "I was listening while you were telling him how to get me to betray Harry. As if I would!"

Severus was starting to think that treating her as Voldemort suggested might be the only way to get her to understand her perilous position. Then she might notice his cautious hints about how to behave to protect herself while doing Potter as little harm as possible.

"I know what you do for Potter," he said flatly, then smirked. "Besides stealing boomslang skin. Or lying to your professors."

She flushed. So that schoolgirl morality was alive and well.

"You solve riddles and work around problems," he said, more soberly. "Young Weasley plays chess. Potter – Potter is the lucky hunter. More than luck now, I think. He seems to be following whatever course Dumbledore set him on quite successfully. You're part of that success."

He wasn't going to say anything that would get him the Killing Curse if overheard. She would have to work it out for herself.

"If you please the Dark Lord, make some concessions, give him what he wants, you can win yourself time, in which you might become safer."

"No." She was flushed, and breathing hard, evidently anxious, but unwilling to bend before necessity.

"My master has given me the task of teaching you obedience, which means using your skills as he wishes. With due respect, of course. He does not tolerate impertinence in even the best of servants."

"No," she repeated, blindly stubborn, perhaps too terrified to think.

Or perhaps in too much pain, despite his reviving spell. He didn't know what curse Pettigrew had used on her.

He strode to the wall cupboard and measured out a dose of a potion he took care to have on hand always, the best remedy he had found for the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse and others like it.

"Here."

She looked doubtful. He rolled his eyes.

"He would be very annoyed with me if I poisoned you."

Apparently that made sense to her. She took it and drank, grimacing as everyone did, but swallowing it and even licking up the viscid stuff clinging to the glass. Most curse victims did that, too.

It took effect almost at once; he could see her tense limbs relaxing, the taut lines of her face easing.

"You said you were listening. So think how you can best keep yourself safe by doing as he demands. You were an excellent Arithmancy student, I was told. How difficult can it be to use that skill to predict what Potter might do next, with all you know of him, his circumstances, and his intent? You're better off than most Arithmancers are, with that advantage of detailed knowledge. I can get you the reference books, the tools, the calculation tables. But now, we might as well get the first thing over with. You can think later, without keeping me awake."

"Over with?" She stared.

Was the girl retarded? Despite her slight figure she was physically a woman; had she never noticed, never had anyone bring it to her attention?

Then she went bright pink and asserted, "You're not going to do that."

Dryly he said, "If you think I have the privilege of disobedience any more than you, Hermione Granger, you're mistaken. You will share my bed. You will be obedient to me in every way, whether you think it wise or right or rational or not. It's not your choice, or mine."

They were both capable of arguing all night, and could not afford to. If Voldemort was not listening, he could well be watching, though no one else could penetrate his privacy shields. She might not enjoy this, but if she made too much fuss a spell would silence her, and force her to accept the inevitable without confusing herself with protests or complaints.

He didn't want to take her by force, but hoped she would see the sense of yielding, since she could not escape Voldemort's will. Nor did he wish to have her under the Imperius curse. He would find it unsatisfactory; more important, once she was freed of it she would resent it fiercely, and someone would be bound to notice. Voldemort might then demand stronger measures to force her compliance, even if they affected her ability to use whatever predictive skills her training gave her.

Severus might be more interested in having her than he should be, but without Voldemort's command he would never have considered doing so, with her consent or without it. Sex was for people who could afford to take risks.

It was only moderately difficult to disregard his burgeoning desire. Nothing new in having to do so with anything he wanted.

He lifted his wand. " _Divesti_!"

She looked shocked and clutched at her clothing, but inexorably the spell stripped it away, slipping buttons from holes, untying laces, sliding robes from shoulders and stockings from legs. She was naked before she gasped frantically, "Don't!"

Severus set his wand aside and methodically stripped, baring his lean body to her gaze, knowing it was not likely to win her favour, letting her see his erection, knowing that would remind her of his determination. He tried not to stare too hard at her breasts, rounded and tipping up, fuller than he had thought, with their pinky-brown nipples firming in the cooler air, or at the slight curve of her belly, or at the brown curls between her legs.

"Paying attention, Granger?"

He took her wand from his robe pocket, showed it to her, ignoring her involuntary reaching for it, then placed it in a pouch which a spell first turned inside out then banished. Then he put his own on a shelf, walked to her side, silently summoned it, and sent it back to its place.

"Now you try. Yours or mine."

She took a trembling breath, then slid to the side of the bed to set her feet on the floor, and concentrated on steadying her breathing. Undoubtedly gathering her will.

" _Accio_ my wand!"

Nothing returned, of course, from that pocket of otherwhere.

She tried again, then addressed herself to his, fixing her eyes on it across the room. Once more, nothing.

"Now will you listen?"

"You're going to rape me?" Her voice sounded dry, steadfast, as if she was detaching herself from the experience already.

"Not if you submit and cooperate."

Her disdainful snort was almost worthy of him. "Still rape."

"But not violent," he said, holding on to his patience. "Not painful. Uncomfortable, perhaps, if you're a virgin – are you? Or have you let young Weasley have you?"

Diverted, she said indignantly, "No, I have not! If I ever did, that'd be later. Much later," she added, almost under her breath, "whatever he'd like." Morosely she went on, "I think he's seeing drawbacks besides that, now, just as I've been doing."

"You could do better for yourself," he agreed dispassionately, "Muggle-born or not. A pure-blood to match your wits and ambition, even if he was penniless. But whatever happens here is no business of Weasley's, or any other wizard's. It's between you and me."

"No names, no packdrill," she muttered. Then she sat up, bracing her shoulders back. Typically, she looked him in the eye as she said, "Very well. Submission and cooperation. You're going to be careful?" It was a demand, despite the questioning lift of her voice at the end.

"As much as I can." He added dryly, "I don't have a potion to prevent you from conceiving –" she flinched – "but the Contraceptus spell alone is effective. I have already cast that, and will again each day."

He saw her tension ease at that, though clearly she had not been thinking beyond the prospect of sex to its possible effects.

He didn't mention how long it had been since he'd had a woman whose body interested him; that might make her nervous again. She had no idea how well Severus Snape had learned to control his body, his thoughts, and even his hopes and wishes.

She seemed to be thankful to retreat under the bedclothes, even after he joined her. He didn't kiss her. She didn't close her eyes when he began to explore her body.

Though she obeyed when he said things like, "Arms away from your sides more," or "Open your legs," she didn't touch him, nor did she give him any response or suggestion of what might arouse her.

He sighed softly, resigned to doing it all himself for the moment, and continued to stroke her, letting his hands wander everywhere, until she seemed at least to be accustomed to that. He felt her slight relaxation. Perhaps he could move on, having earned a little tolerance, if not confidence. He was enjoying this, but it didn't seem to be doing anything for her. Being direct might be more effective than being patient.

Severus turned onto his side and silently, wandlessly, summoned the fine, scentless oil he used to lubricate his own body when he needed relief. He turned back the bedclothes so that he could see her, ignoring her slight indrawn breath, then moved her thighs firmly apart and lifted her knees. She took the hint, and splayed her legs widely, letting him see her pink lower lips with the inner lips peering from between, dry still.

He moistened one hand thoroughly, then began to paint those lips with the oil, slowly parting and dampening them for her, until he could see the small hood over her clit. She felt the delicate touches of his fingertip there; he saw the slight tremble of her belly muscles. So she hadn't locked herself away from all feeling. It would be very difficult to do this without hurting and distressing her if she refused to let her body react. He went on tickling her gently, persistently, until he saw that tremor again. Then he swiped one finger firmly up the full length from perineum to hood, and rubbed the little nubbin there to stiffness.

Better. She wasn't tightening her muscles every time she felt an involuntary reaction, now.

By this time his own strong interest had subsided somewhat, for which he was grateful. He didn't want to spend forever seducing her while his body nagged him urgently for satisfaction. He could find that eagerness quickly enough when she was ready to accommodate it.

He put both hands on her belly and slid them up the silky flesh until his hands cupped the lower curves of her breasts, pressing and moulding them, rubbing his thumbs over them, approaching her nipples with a slowness he hoped might make her impatient. When he rubbed a thumb over one nipple it pebbled under his touch, and she gave that soft huff of reaction again.

He rose up to straddle her, knees either side of her thighs, not pinning her down, but positioning himself so he could lean over her without strain, and gave all his attention to turning those soft buds of flesh into points, making them stiffen above her areolas. He watched their colour change as they began to fill with blood. He had always found it marvellous that such little things could make a woman feel so intensely. But a clitoris was even smaller, and even more capable of being charged with sensation. He worked her nipples and the flesh of her breasts until she was gasping aloud and shifting under him, almost ready, he thought, to rub herself against him to intensify what she felt.

Severus suspected she had not thought he could take her so far. Now to take her the rest of the way.

He shifted down the bed and began to lick the inside of her thighs, near to but never touching her tenderest parts, until she tried to close her legs on him, in impatience, he thought, rather than in rejection. Her breathing was less steady now. Then he held her open and licked once more, this time approaching those lips, moist and plump from her body's responses now, not just oiled to smooth his way.

One of her hands tugged on his hair and she spoke for the first time. "Do something! You wanted this, you've got it; get on!"

He laughed almost silently, but she would have felt the breath against her sensitised flesh. He wanted to be sure, however, and wished her to understand that too, so he licked up to the tiny red tip at the top of her slit, its hood drawn back now. She whimpered, and her hand tightened uncomfortably in his hair. His tongue lashed her clit even stiffer, while her other hand gripped his shoulder, pushing, pulling, as if uncertain what might give her satisfaction. She couldn't have let Weasley get very far. Odd how satisfying that thought was; who had preceded him was not ordinarily a concern.

He had believed needing to educate a virgin would be – not boring, no, but an inconvenience. Instead he was pleased by the thought that her reactions were to him and to what he did, not to her own experience with another. A very stupid thing to be thinking about a woman whom he was fucking against her will in the hope of saving her life and sanity and skills.

When he moved up her body she was shaking, whimpering almost soundlessly, trying to urge him on with clutching hands and strongly gripping legs or with restless feet smoothing over his calves and the back of his knees. He poised over her, setting his ready cockhead to those wet folds. Her legs rose to wrap around him and pull with quite as much urgency as her hands.

He thrust carefully, slowly, trembling with the effort of restraint after so long, and slid easily in until he came to the barrier. Hoping it was gossamer fine he did not pause, but pushed further in. She gasped and choked, so he waited until her breathing steadied from that jolt of discomfort. Soon enough her thighs tightened around him again, urging him on. He went on being careful, though he longed to plunge into her and take his pleasure.

By now, though, it had become important to show her that, forced or not, she could find pleasure in this with him. He drew back, then pushed in again, all the way this time, and she lifted her hips to meet him. He took that as licence to speed up. She began to move in concert with him. Once her inner muscles tightened on him, and he gasped, unable to hide that reaction, so she did it again, and went on doing it.

Severus had tried to hold back until he could take her with him, since it now seemed possible, but he wasn't thinking any more, only driving for satisfaction. When he was almost at the limit of his endurance, no longer aware of why he was delaying, he felt the tell-tale flutter within her, around him, the silent, tiny convulsions of her pleasure urging him towards his. Her breath caught, then she stopped breathing entirely for a long, long moment. It was enough. She was there, so he abandoned all control, thrusting furiously for the last few times necessary to bring himself to the goal that she had attained.

He lay over her while his breathing steadied, aware now of heavy sweat beginning to cool and taut muscles relaxing, until she pushed at his shoulder, not violently, but firmly enough to get his attention.

"You're heavy."

He lifted himself up on his elbows, then took his weight on his knees and hands and moved off her, though he did not go far. Severus Snape was a thinking being once more, and was sure it was important not to let her slide away from him, either physically or mentally. If he let her retreat it would all have to be done again. So he lay beside her and pulled her against him, making her as comfortable as possible, with her head on his bony shoulder, her body half over his, one of his arms holding her there, and his free hand stroking slowly, steadily, along her flanks, feeling her sweat too, as well as the mess on her thighs.

No need to make her uncomfortable, or to put up with discomfort himself, either. He summoned his wand and murmured a charm to clean away their sweat, his semen, and her fluids, before the bedding as well as their skins became damp. He didn't use a healing charm for whatever small discomforts she might have suffered, either from that first penetration or from being so long in an unaccustomed position. Tomorrow she needed to show the effects of his use, however slight.

He didn't ask her if she was all right, or if she had enjoyed it. There was no use giving her the chance to deny that she had been well pleased, even if she had not expected it. Now, she might remember that she had not wished it, and want to punish him, in however slight a way, for forcing it on her. If she was too honest to deny the physical pleasure she might nonetheless be embarrassed or angered at having to admit it, or that she had pursued it actively. Silence was better.

He pulled up the covers and tucked them well around her; women seemed to feel the cold more, and this late in the year the nights cooled rapidly. He waved the candles out and despatched his wand to its safe place. He didn't like not sleeping with it under his pillow, but it was a very rare bed companion indeed whom he would trust in its vicinity.

He yawned and relaxed further. That had been good. He doubted if she had learned from it the lesson Voldemort expected, but then he had not taught it as Voldemort expected, either. What mattered was that she should work with him, rather than against him, and put up some show of using her abilities to predict Potter's actions, until he could get her out of here. Sooner rather than later, he thought, if possible before Veritaserum or the Imperius Curse came into play.

She was asleep before he was, but he seldom slept until he had the security of knowing his companion was incapable of working harm.

In the morning he conjured up red silk ribbons and tied them around her wrists and at her throat, though not so tightly as to impede her breathing.

She scowled at him, though she had not resisted.

"A slave bears a distinctive mark. Be thankful you have not been branded as some have been in the past."

That made her shiver, but somehow the next morning the ribbons were nowhere to be found. After that happened a second time, Severus shrugged. Voldemort would certainly notice. Let her find out for herself the consequences, when the Dark Lord next demanded her presence.

* * * SSHG * * * SSHG * * *

Severus woke without moving, listened, and only then turned to look at the young woman sleeping as far away from him as her dignity allowed, without teetering on the edge of his bed. Sleeping soundly, and at ease in her sleep. Not curled in a helpless, self-protective ball of limbs as she had been the first couple of nights. It was surprising how little he had liked waking to that spectacle, given that neither of them had any choice.

A small sour quirk of his lips might have been a regretful smile in another man. Even this he could not let her have.

He slithered across the bed and settled himself behind her, against the warmth of smooth skin and the tension of springy spine, letting himself slide one arm around her waist so that his hand touched the luscious flesh of her breasts. So close, she filled his nostrils and her hair obscured his vision. Still she did not wake, so after a little while of inappropriately appreciating all these pleasures he tightened his grip a little and drew her back against him, then coaxed her to the centre of the bed, only then pulling sheet and blankets over them both.

He meant to let her have her sleep out, passing the time by fingering her nipples gently and teasing his morning erection by nestling it between the cheeks of her rounded buttocks, while thinking about slipping his hand down between her thighs. He did not do that last, knowing it would send a different message than the one he intended, if she woke while he enjoyed her heat and promise. Later he was surprised to realise that he had dropped off to sleep again.

Even sleep was easier with her. That might have been dangerous, if he hadn't been so firmly focussed on helping her to stay alive.

When she did wake he was reading, as it was early still, but he did not let her lie in. Instead he chivvied her out of bed, into his bathroom, then after their breakfast looked significantly at the table that had been brought in for her use. Silently, without protest, she went to it, though she frowned a little. After a while that sulky expression was replaced with the familiar look of concentration. Hermione Granger was immersed in her task now, no longer worrying about the ill effects being successful in it might have.

He left her to it, knowing after the previous evening's questioning how far she had progressed. Voldemort was a scholar still, though it seldom showed, and understood perfectly well that Arithmancy was not a matter of gazing into a crystal ball or a teacup for a few minutes, or for longer to make oneself important, and inventing wild surmises. It required meticulous care, scrupulous use of one's tools, checking and re-checking of assumptions and calculations and conclusions. Severus understood quite enough of it himself to be able to report in detail on her activities, which satisfied his master. Probably Granger would delay coming to any conclusions as long as she could; that was to be expected. They would face that when Voldemort lost patience.

There was no word of any action by Potter, though a group of Aurors had conducted repeated searches of Knockturn Alley premises. A few wizards and witches had been arrested for petty crimes, but the Death Eaters were uninterested in who might spend a month or two in Azkaban for being so tactless as to conduct their businesses in full view of the Aurors.

Though Severus tried to avoid bringing Granger out where his fellows, or his master, could observe her, and perhaps have their imaginations stimulated, he was careful to attend on Voldemort exactly as usual, and to work his usual long hours on the potions Voldemort wanted developed. He was Granger's keeper and trainer, but any self-indulgence would be a mistake. The nights should be enough for any man. Severus was rapidly becoming accustomed to having Granger in his bed. Pity it could not last long.

* * * SSHG * * * SSHG * * *

Severus came at last to bed, irritated with all the interruptions to his work – despite not wishing to succeed in it – looking forward to the comforts to be found there. She was asleep in the middle of the bed, and when he drew the covers back he found her naked, as required, save for the red ribbons around her throat and wrists. It had taken a few days, but no doubt Voldemort's offering him actual slave bracelets for her, if she kept 'losing' her tokens of his ownership, convinced her that appearance was better than reality.

He stripped, then climbed in beside her, stretching luxuriously, working out the kinks in spine and shoulders, then turned on one side to lean over her and bite her neck. He did it gently enough, but she woke with a start and a tremor, as always. Strange how she had been able to grasp and follow his unspoken suggestions on how she should act to stay alive and untortured, even managing to lead Voldemort astray without penalty once, yet could not reason past his unashamed use of her to his willingness to help her.

He would tell her plainly, relieve the anxiety that was always clearest when she was newly awakened. Soon. Yes, soon.

Not tonight, though, perhaps, he thought, pushing her down to her back so he could suckle on one breast and play with the nipple of the other, feeling her hands sliding down his spine to press him closer to her, encouraging him to bite and suck at her mouth as well as her breasts. This submission was too sweet. If she understood that he meant to send her back to Potter she would at once assume she should be free of his demands, or at least begin to argue about it as she had not, since the first day. No. Potter would get her back, essentially unharmed, better educated in the dangers she had been running, better acquainted with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and better able to predict their actions. She was an even more skilful Arithmancer than she thought, and this sojourn would be useful to her.

Only a few days more. He had it all worked out, with a contingency plan in case Pettigrew's escort was not distracted by the diversion Severus had organised. On little Peter's next trip to London he was going to pay his wizard's debt to Potter, willy-nilly, and be Obliviated afterwards (with his own wand, for additional security), so he could not defend himself or implicate another. If Severus was really fortunate, the Aurors he planned to attract would get their hands on Pettigrew and ensure the Dark Lord could not hold a postmortem on the loss of Granger. Severus was going to be nearly as devastated at the loss of his concubine as at the loss of her services to his lord, while Hermione Granger was going to walk free into Diagon Alley and be a great deal more careful thereafter.

He would tell her on the day; that was time enough. She was not likely to be grateful, but he had learned not to expect gratitude, no matter what sacrifices he made.

Meantime, she was all his, in all the ways he was interested in having her. He rose above her and parted her thighs with his knee, moving between. She wrapped her legs around his hips and rocked gently, enticing him. He rubbed against her, then dampened his fingers in the moisture of her warm depths, stroking the folds of her flesh, already plumped for him, tickling her clit gently, feeling her shudder, feeling her hands tighten on his shoulders, feeling the heat in her cheeks, the hardness of her nipples against his chest, seeing her drooping eyelashes and her open, panting mouth. Feeling her blood beating as his did.

If he had not been ready for her, that would have made him so. Her legs gripped him harder, in sudden impatience that she no longer tried to hide from him, and he smiled inside his head as he pushed up and in, sheathing himself in her close wet heat. He teased himself as much as her, after that, with small withdrawals and leisurely returns, until her nails reinforced the message of her gasps and whimpers. Oh yes, this was real. Whatever deceits she employed with the Dark Lord, to Severus she gave her eager desire and with it redoubled his.

He released himself from restraint and thrust into her, hard, over and over, shoving her slight body along the mattress, hearing her hiss, "Yes, now!"

He answered, "Up! Hold on to me!" then rose on hands and knees. She clung like a Devil's Snare vine, head fallen back, body arched into his, arms and legs holding her in place, her hips lifting to his thrusts. He plunged forcefully into her suspended body, feeling the effort she made to stay close, an effort as great as his own, and drove for his satisfaction and hers. When his climax was almost on him he felt her quiver and tighten even more around him, those tiny internal tremors that had such enormous significance. As always, she came silently, whereas he gave a muted shout of victory before he collapsed onto her.

Almost at once he rolled sideways, taking her with him, still entwined, still inside her, reluctant to leave the place that was his alone, and knowing this she clung to him still. At last he softened enough so that he slid from her whether he wished it or not, and let her lie back to spread her limbs in the ease of satiety.

He summoned his wand to clean them both of sweat and drying fluids, sent it back to safety, and pulled her to lie half over him. Then he drew the covers over their cooling bodies, stroked her throat along the line of the red ribbon, feeling it damp still from her sweat, smiled so that she might have seen it, had the room not been dark, wound one hand in those wild curls, and settled himself to sleep.

"Goodnight, Granger," he murmured.

"Goodnight, Severus," she answered, responsive as she had learned to be to everything he wanted.

This was too good to lose. So unfortunate that Potter needed her. Until their lord sent Peter to London, however, she was his, and Severus was content as he had seldom been. Even after he assisted her to escape he would have these memories and this knowledge of her. He did not need candles to see her face in sleep; he knew it well now. Pale cheeks a little flushed, soft lips parted, still reddened and swollen from kissing, hair in enticing disarray. Smooth brow, no longer reflecting daylight resentments or night-time fears. When she was gone he would have that picture of her, and need never trouble himself again over what she might be thinking.

*** finite incantatem ***

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Smutty Claus exchange 2005 for raven_feathers. My thanks to my beta reader luthien, who answered my anxious questions and suggested how I might tidy up loose ends.


End file.
